


Ghosts in my head

by bow_ties_R_cool



Category: The messenger - Fandom
Genre: F/M, IDK i'm trying my hand at other fandoms, Robert Sheehan - Freeform, TW: Violence, TW: cursing, mainly robert sheehans cause his characters are easier to work with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bow_ties_R_cool/pseuds/bow_ties_R_cool
Summary: After getting a last chance move to England, you encounter someone who shares the same abilities as you. Bonding over shared trauma, how romantic
Relationships: Jack & Reader, Jack x reader - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	Ghosts in my head

  
Living with the attachment of spirits hasn't been the kindest life you could lead. Certainly not the quietest. And the fact that it was in America of all places, where being different meant being shoved aside, locked away, pushed out. Unless you were the good kind of different. The kind where you could exploit it for others entertainment.  
  
They couldn't exploit you. You who could see the ghosts of the deceased, those who still had unfinished business to take care of. They called you crazy, because you tried to help the grieving souls move on.  
  
So they shipped you up north. To England, some Yorkshire village in who-the-fuck knows where. Told you it would be good for your health, "Get some air back in your lungs, clear your head."  
  
More like "Keep quiet and stay out of trouble."  
  
It's been 3 months since they sent you up here, and every day was a waking nightmare. No matter where you turned there was another ghost begging for help. Help you couldn't provide. Help you refused to provide. And as you sat nursing a pint in the local bar, another ghost tried to get your attention.  
  
"I was told you could help. That you could see us." It was an old woman, 60, maybe 70 years old. The northern accent thick on her tongue.   
  
"Did they now?" You scoff. The bartender eyes you funnily and you just smile and nod your head at him. "Don't know what lies they've been feeding you, but I don't help. Not anymore. Not since they shipped me up here."  
  
"Please." She begs. "It's my son. I need to tell him goodbye."  
  
"Lady, no offence, but you can do that in your own time. I'm not going up to some guy and telling them "Your mum says she loves you." The courts across the pond already think I'm a total nutcase."  
  
You take a sip of your drink and wave her away. "Now, I say this with the utmost kindness madam, piss off." You turn your head for a moment to grab your coat, and when you look again she's gone.  
  
"Thank god." You mutter and walk out, not noticing the bartender continue to side-eye you as you exit the building. Nor do you see the curly haired man stare at you from across the bar, baggy clothes and 2 drinks set for a man nobody else could see.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Your nights are tumultuous, the screams from the dead permeating your senses until all you can hear is wailing. You wake up most nights crying and trembling, unable to sleep longer than maybe 2 hours at a time. So you've taken to stargazing on the roof of your flat when the dead just won't shut up. The night sky offers you peace, and the constellations give you a chance to think. It isn't much, but it offers you more than whatever the government provided flat could give you.   
  
It's on a particularly terrible night when you spot a man standing on the street, just staring at you. You can't make out any discerning features, and when you raise a hand in greeting, he raises it back. "Huh." You muse. "At least they're friendly." You pull your coat tighter against you, to fight off the oncoming cold.  
  
That is until they start running away, followed by a group of people not too far from him. "Oh, shit." You curse and quickly run down and follow them. It doesn't take long to find the sounds of kicking and punching, followed by harsh grunts of pain.  
  
"Think you're clever, do ya?!" One of them, a large, heavyset man was shouting and you can hear the man on the ground grunt and laugh. "Reckon I'm cleverer than you, mate." he breathes in a wheezed chuckle and you wince and reflexively grab your side. Going by the pained gasps, you'd think he busted a rib or something.  
  
"My girl ain't been dead 3 days, and you have the nerve to go an' say she been cheatin' on me with my brother?! How thick do you think I am?" He's screaming at the curly haired man.  
  
"Willing to put a price on it." He mutters and a swift kick to the stomach forces him to raise his voice, "Listen, I was just there to deliver a message, that's all! Your choice if you don't want to believe me!"  
  
You don't think you can take much more of this, he's being beaten for delivering a message?  
  
"Bullshit." The larger man sneers, and gets his fist ready for another punch. Not in the mood to witness a beat down you step out of your hiding place. "OI!" You call out.  
  
They all turn to look at you, the large heavyset man with his two cronies sneer at you and give you a once over. "Whatchu want, yank? Can't you see we're busy?" He points down and you look at the curly haired man, frantically shaking his head no, mouthing "Run!"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Real busy." You scoff. "So because he was giving you a message, that gives you the right to kick the crap out of him?"  
  
"He was spreading lies! My girl was a sweet soul, loved only me, and HE has the balls to come down here and tell me she was shaggin my brother! We just buried her!"  
  
"Mm, cool motive, still assault!" You mocking clap your hands and give him a harsh look. "I don't care what he said to you, get out of here before I call the cops."  
  
"Oh? You think you're tough, girlie? Think you can scare the likes of me? Y'know," He leans in real close to you, enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath and it takes everything in you not to flinch back, "I like that in a girl."  
  
"Do you?" You reply dryly. "Yeah, my old girl might be gone, but uh...if you want, you can be my new one?"  
  
Closing your eyes you grit your teeth and lean in close to him. "Thanks, but uh, I don't go for twats like you!" and you raise your leg to deliver a swift kick in the balls. The man grunts and falls over in pain and you run over to the curly haired man and sling his arm over your shoulder. "What are you-"  
  
"Shut up, and move, we'll go to my apartment, it's closer."  
  
Before you run off you deliver one last biting retort: "I am not your whore!"  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
You open the door to your apartment with your foot, carefully bringing in the man and gently setting him down onto the sofa. "Sorry, hold on I have a first aid kit here somewhere." and run to the bathroom, digging through the cabinets.  
  
You can hear the man shuffling around in the living room and groaning every now and then. "You didn't have to do that, you know." He calls out. "I would have been fine on my own."  
  
Quickly finding the first aid kit, you walk back into the living room and eye the man weirdly. "Oh yeah, skinny thing like you, you'd have had him in no time. That's why you were on the ground. Bleeding."  
  
"Had him on the ropes." He weakly counters and you just roll your eyes at him. "Sure you did." You point at his shirt...or rather what's left of it. "Shirt off." you order.  
  
He just raises a bushy eyebrow at you. "Normally people buy me a drink first before taking off my shirt."  
  
"Yeah, and normally people aren't covered in bruises with a possible broken rib. Like I said. Shirt off."  
  
"Tetchy." But he removes his shirt regardless and you weren't wrong. There's bruising all over his chest and he winces when you begin to check him over. Sure enough you see a large dark purple patch on his ribcage and you hear his pained wheezes whenever he take a breath.   
  
You open the kit and grab the Antibiotic cream and a roll of gauze. It isn't much but it should be enough to keep the pain at bay for the moment. "What's your name?" You ask.   
  
"What?" the question startles him out of whatever thoughts he might be having. "Your name." You continue. "A shirtless man who just got the shit kicked out of him is in my living room. The least I can get is a name."  
  
The man laughs, a pained wheeze coming out of his mouth and winces when you begin to rub the ointment on his chest. "Jack." He says. "My name's Jack."  
  
"Jack, huh?" You test the name out on your lips. "I like it."  
  
"Glad to know I have your seal of approval. What's yours?"  
  
"[Y/N]." You reply and smile at him - Jack.   
  
It's silent for a while as you tend to his bruised rib, the only sounds being his pained breathing and you wrapping the gauze around his chest.  
  
"I saw you. Before." Jack starts. You look up at him questioningly. "At the bar earlier today. I saw you, talking with an old woman."  
  
Your hands freeze. You don't move. "You must be mistaken. There was no old woman." you deny.  
  
"Nobody else could see her, but I could." Jack continues and you shake your head in denial.  
  
"I don't know what-"  
  
"How long?" He interrupts. "How long have you been able to talk to the dead?"  
  
"No, no no no, I'm not having this conversation with you." Your hands are shaking and you quickly stand up and pace the room.   
  
"I'm like you!" He shouts and you stop and look over at him. "What?"  
  
"I can see them too! The dead buggers who won't leave me alone and ask me to deliver messages! I can see them!"  
  
You give Jack a hard stare. He looks sincere, like there's a level of relief in his eyes that he isn't really crazy, but you're having a hard time believing him. "How do I know you aren't a plant?"  
  
His face falls into a look of confusion. "A what?"  
  
"A plant. I got sent here in lieu of being locked in a padded cell, on the basis the courts don't see me...acting like I normally do."  
  
"I'm not a plant." He states. "Do you see me sprouting leaves and giving off oxygen?"  
  
"I'm serious! If the courts think I'm talking to the dead again they'll lock me away. For good this time." You start muttering "I can't go back there, I can't. Too many needles, not enough space."  
  
Jack, with a grunt of pain, slowly stands up from the couch and gently places a hand on your shoulders. "Hey." He urges and you look over at him, tears in your eyes. "I'm not gonna send you back to that kind of place. Trust me. I want to be as far away from those kinds of places as much as you." You look hard into his bright green eyes, and you can't find a shred of falsehood in them.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"It started when I was eight." You begin. You're both sitting on the couch now, nursing a couple of beers you had in the fridge. It wasn't much, but you were trying to be hospitable.  
  
"I uh, saw my mom die. Cancer. Took her slow. And we couldn't really do anything about it, cause you know, no insurance and all that." You scoff and take a swig of beer. "But when she died, she didn't...leave."  
  
"She stayed? Offered advice? Wisdom? All that lovely shite?" Jack assumed and you gave a short nod of your head. "At first."  
  
Jacks brows furrow. "How do you mean?"  
  
"After a while she started telling me secrets. Airing the dirty laundry, if you will. Told me about Auntie Deridre, the alcoholic with a magpie mind. About Uncle Derek, the pedo. And so on and so on...Apparently my family, with all its money, had a lot of skeletons buried in it's closet. And mom wanted me to share them all."  
  
"Must have been a shite family to have no insurance." Jack notes and you laugh, harsh and bitter.  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe. We come from old money, moms side was loaded but uh, they weren't exactly..."  
  
"Nice?"  
  
"Well, that's certainly one word for it. Rich, snobby, dickwads who'll disown you if you don't toe the line more like. But once I tried to talk to someone about it, my family paid them off to shut them up and tried to keep me quiet. It worked. For a while."  
  
"How long?" Jack wonders. "Three years, give or take. I was just starting middle school when uh, the ghost of some kid who got pushed down the stairs kept turning up in my classes. Asked me to help deliver a message to her killer."  
  
"And did you?" You aren't sure why you're telling him these things. Maybe it's because he's the first person who's actually listened without thinking you're a loony.   
  
Maybe it's cause he cares. You don't know, you just can't bring yourself to stop.  
  
"Yep. Walked right up to him and everything. Was all brave and shit. All it got me was a punch in the face and a trip to a psychiatric hospital."  
  
You sigh, taking another swig of beer. "After that my family kept sending me to different hospitals, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. And each time I got out, there was another ghost asking for help. After 16 years, you'd think I'd learn. But this last one, well...she's the one that broke the straw on the camels back."  
  
"Can't be as bad as getting the shite kicked out of you for telling a grieving ex boyfriend his girl was a slag." Jack laughed bitterly but the next words out of your mouth caused him to sober up quickly.  
  
"I got caught up in a high profile murder case." Any emotion on Jacks face was quickly replaced with shock. "To make a long story short, I was contacted by the victim, tried to tell the police, they thought I was in league with the murderer, and got prosecuted. I got shipped up here to bumfuck, england cause of my family pulling some strings with the court, but this is my last chance. They told me...If I can't keep my head down, stay out of trouble? I'll be deported back to the states and right back into a padded cell."  
  
The atmosphere took a trip south fast. It's quiet, the sound of a ticking clock being the only thing in the room. "I'm sorry." Jack begins. "You shouldn't have had to go through that. And for what it's worth, I believe you."  
  
"Thanks." You smile sadly at him. "What about you?" You ask. "Gotta be a story with you as well." Jack looks the clock and sees how late it's getting, and opts instead to smile at you. It's the first genuine smile you've seen all night. "It's getting late. I should go."  
  
You look up at him in a panic. "No!" Jack looks over at you in shock. "I-I mean...I don't...I don't want to stop talking to you."  
  
Jack give a pensive look, before making a decision. "You know the bar you were at today?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Meet me there tomorrow night. My treat. Consider it a proper date after the trouble you went through for me today."  
  
You nod, eager at the prospect of seeing Jack again. "Course. Do you need help getting home?"   
  
"Nah," he waves you off and you see him to the door. "I can call a taxi, it's no bother."  
  
"If you're sure..." You bite your lip and smile shyly at him. "See you tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah, tomorrow. You'll get to hear all about my crap life then. Date of the century."  
  
"I can hardly wait." And when he smiles at you and laughs, it feels like the first rays of sunshine on an otherwise rainy day. "See you tomorrow."  
  
"See you." And the door gently shuts, and you lean against it, head thunking against the door.  
  
"Date of the century indeed." You muse, and go to get ready for bed. You have a date to get ready for.  
  
The giddy smile doesn't leave your face for the rest of the night.


End file.
